She's Got Legs III

Afternoon melts into evening as I sit and wait and worry.  I hear everyone come home at various times, talking and moving about downstairs, totally unaware of my misery upstairs alone in my room.  Unaware of my existence.

"Dinner is ready!", I hear announced from the dining room.  Do I go down without being told to?  Maybe it was said so loudly for my benefit, or maybe it was said loudly because whoever the announcer was noticed I wasn't there and had no idea I was upstairs in the middle of punishment.  What do I do?  I walk ever so lightly down each step so as not to be heard and therefor able to change my mind and run back up at any moment.  I silently enter the dining room and Dad looks up. He says very slowly and deliberately. "You don't eat with the rest of us.  Go to your room and you will be called if there is anything left." "Yes", is my only reply as I return to my room, glad for his decision.  Dinner would have been tense and unbearable with snide comments rushing at me with each bite of food that I had to choke down anyway.  Anxiety always makes eating difficult. 

After about an hour I'm called down to eat at the empty table and I choke down what's on my plate.  Then I quietly clear my dishes, return to my room and continue the agonizing wait.

Darkness slowly envelops my room and my eyes adjust.  As my head hangs down, eyes to the floor, the dark gets a bit darker and my heart jumps as I realize Dad's frame has adumbrated my doorway casting a large shadow in front of me.  "Go to my room and get the broomstick, Puke," is snarled at me.  I run to his room and look frantically for what's been ordered, Though I know what this means after the use of it to break Davey's legs, I still hold out hope that if I find it quickly the pain that will be inflicted with it, might be just a bit less.  Aha!  There it is resting against the corner by Mom's sewing machine.  I snatch it up and run back with my arm proudly outstretched to hand it to him--I found it, yayy, isn't that great? 

At least he chooses the back of my legs for batting practice rather than the front as he did with Davey. "Pull your pants down and bend over, " I'm ordered and I am instantly mortified.  Pull my pants down??? I know what this means and I think that surely it won't cause so much damage on my bottom as it caused to Davey's shins. I've actually never been spanked on my bottom before--Dad usually stomach-punches or face-slaps. He's being easy on me, but this is humiliating. Full of embarrassment, I let them drop toward the floor then lay the top half of my body atop my bed as I've been instructed through angry gestures. 

I immediately understand why I was ordered to bend over onto the bed as the force of all of Dad's strength brings the broomstick, baseball bat style, to a screeching halt at the back of my thighs. I quickly realize that he is NOT being easy on me. Had I not had the bed under me, the force of the hit would have sent me across the room.  Pain sears from the point of impact, both legs mid-thigh, and radiates up and down my legs.  Dad continues his batting practice on my legs, swinging with all of his might, until his might tires.  I grip the bedclothes and try to be tough through the pain because if any sound is emitted I know the punishment will intensify.  Fortunately he's not making me count this time because I know my voice would never allow it.  The hits range from just above the backs of my knees to the bottom of my bottom.

Then, just like that, it stops and he walks away.  I can tell from the heaviness of his breath that he has only stopped from pure exhaustion.  I remain in position for what seems like an eternity, questioning myself as to whether I should move without having been given permission to do so.  I finally decide, after hearing him descend the stairs, that it's safe to move.  I stand upright, ever so gingerly, and wince from the pain of my jeans touching the tenderized skin on the backs of my legs as I pull my jeans back on. 

I stand in place, not daring to move in any way lest the jeans touch against my skin again.  I stand there in the darkness as my family members prepare for and go to bed, one by one.  When all the lights have been turned off and there is no noise for what I deem to be long enough to move, I undress, very carefully, and put on my long nightgown.  Even it causes me to flinch as it breezes against my skin.  I lay on my stomach on top of my blanket and try to sleep.  Eventually I succeed only to awaken again and again as I move, forgetting the pain in my sleep.  Morning finally comes and as I lay wondering if I will be allowed to go to school, Dad enters my room.  I jump, through the pain, to attention and am told to get ready for school.  And so I do...

This is one of the rocks that creates some of my brook's best music.  I like this one right where it is.

Jen ;-)